The Magpie and the Robin
by cuiltheory
Summary: Robin Kenbridge, a young writer struggling to pay bills after college is offered a high-paying job by political figurehead Mycroft Holmes, which entails monitoring his unstable brother and keeping him from enacting revenge on the man who ruined his life. However, will Robin's sympathies with Mycroft's brother result in her aiding him in his revenge?
1. Chapter 1

Robin Kenbridge was pleasantly surprised by the way the day had gone so far. It was cold, but not raining, although she wouldn't have minded if it did rain, and her landlord had been flexible with her rent on the condition that she read through his term paper. She'd gotten her law degree two years prior, but was never able to move more than ten miles away from the university. She'd grown attached to the place, and attachment, for Robin, was extremely uncommon.

She was walking home, the only one on the sidewalk as far as she could see. Robin despised going outdoors for any reason whatsoever, but in order to stay in shape, she forced herself to walk from her apartment to a magazine stand down the street, where she would buy copies of whatever magazines she hadn't read, skim them, and when there was nothing of particular interest, which was most of the time, would throw them away before she reached her apartment. She'd managed to keep up this habit for the past three months, and although throughout that time period there had been interruptions; cat calls, poorly trained dogs, joggers under the impression that they had the right of way, etcetera, she had never been threatened by any means. So when the sleek black BMW pulled up to the curb, she ignored it, and continued walking, arms crossed against her chest, gaze turned downward, long after she noticed that it was slowly coasting behind her. Most people, in this situation, would break into a sprint or run or at least have harbored some sort of suspicion, but Robin was quite sure that even if the driver of the car had the worst intents, (which was unlikely when the government plates were taken into account) she would be able to defend herself. She leaned over and peered at the tinted window, unable to see through until it began rolling down. Inside was an odd, pigeon-like man with cowlicked shiny brown hair, a hooked nose and an odd, pert scowl. He turned towards her and his thin lips drew up into a sort of disdainful smile, and try as he might to sound warm, he could not.

"Hello Ms. Kenbridge, could you please get in the car?"

"I suppose I could." She remained fixed in place.

"Would you?" He said, drolly.

"You have a gun in the glove compartment." It wasn't a question, but he answered.

"Yes."

"May I see it?" The man proceeded to unlatch the glove compartment, and withdraw the sleek black pistol. As he was about to close the compartment, Robin reached a hand in the window and hooked a finger around the trigger, fishing it back out the window and transferring it into her other hand.

"And the other one?"

"Ms. Kenbridge, don't you think it would be rude to leave me with no means of defending myself?"

"It's under the seat, then." He muttered,

"I can see now why he was so persistent." In the very same breath, he added,

"My name is Mycroft, and I'm here to offer you employment on behalf of my dear brother."

Robin took one look over her shoulder and opened up the car door.


	2. Chapter 2

Most people would consider this unwise, but unlike most people, Robin was subscribed to eleven different newspapers, and she had immediately recognized the pigeon-like man as government runner Mycroft Holmes. She'd always admired his work, and although most of it wasn't reported in the paper, it should have been. She was also aware of his brother, who had lived a brief life in the spotlight before his horrible suicide. She grew adept at the subject while a member of a recreational conspiracy club her senior year at uni. She'd been assigned the case of the suicide of a "fake genius." It was just the sort of case that usually showed up; very orderly, very clean, far too organized. She'd hit a dead end when she found that neither Sherlock nor his brother had been involved in the planning of the jump, some of which dated back to months prior. And so, like with most of the conspiracies, she gave up and presented a thoroughly made up story about how the insane jewel thief James Moriarty, whose body was found a few miles from St. Bart's hospital, was responsible for the forced suicide of the fake genius.

"You've clearly been wondering what sort of job I could possibly have for you."

"Well, you said it involved your brother, and he's dead. I'm guessing you didn't hire me as a lawyer, since I'm currently unlicensed to practice; therefore I would deduce that it has something to do with the fourteen books I've written. An expository article, a memoir?"

"Good guesses, but no. As a matter of fact, you have none of the qualifications for this job. You're fresh out of college, and rather young even for that. You were my last choice."

"Then why am I here?" The corner of his lip stretched upwards and he keeps his eyes fixed steadily on the road.

"Because you were his first."

Very suddenly, the car made a sharp turn down a narrow alley, pulling to a stop where a brick wall dead-ended.

Robin knew this part of the neighborhood, and what it was known for. She tightened her grip around the pistol as Mycroft subdued the engine and stepped out of the vehicle.

"What are we doing here?"

"Here is where I'll be presenting the terms of your employment. Follow me." She too, exited the vehicle and waited as Mycroft walked around the front of the car and a few feet further down the alley. Robin followed until Mycroft stopped and opened a boarded up door settled into the brick. He stepped through and waited to the side of the doorway, waiting for her to come through before closing and latching it shut. The room was, for a moment pitch black, before there was a slight metallic clink, and light flowed out from a single bulb in the middle of the room, Mycroft's gloved hand sliding off the post before he pulled out a cheap chair seated next to the only other object in the room; a large metal table.

"Please, sit." Robin crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes before starting over.

"I love how you decorated the place. Just like the interrogation rooms at the precinct. A bit dramatic, don't you think? Although I suppose I should have assumed it would be, based on your political contributions." His constant scowl deepened further, eyes staring drolly at her as she sat and crossed one leg over the other.

He felt under the desk, pulling out a hidden drawer. It was empty.

Robin smirked and sat up, pulling a Manila folder out from under her legs.

"I figured there had to be a contract somewhere. Here you go. It looks legitimate, but I daresay I only had twelve seconds to examine it. I would need at least thirty to be absolutely positive." Mycroft was not amused.

Robin wondered if he ever could be.

He stood on the other side of the table, and opened the folder.

"Should you agree to accept the term of employment, you would be paid 350,000 American dollars per year."

"And what are those terms?" He took a deep breath.

"As I mentioned earlier, you were far from my first pick for the position. Your qualifications would be incalculably more useful elsewhere. But my brother insisted that you were the only one that would do. Now, for the job description."

He folded his fingers on the table.

"My brother is alive. While this may be of some surprise, I don't believe it's a major shock. You were mostly aware of this already." He didn't ask it like a question, but it was implied.

"I had some speculation, yes." He nodded once.

"He is now living in an undisclosed location some ways from here. You are also aware, his death was forced, not a suicide. He had managed, for once, to form meaningful relationships with several others. One in particular. Those relationships were held against him, and he was forced to cut them off indefinitely. You can understand the mental repercussions that would bring. On top of that, the people in place behind his murder are still alive and thriving. I am afraid, that in his delicate state of mind, he may pursue them, to the most fatal ends. I am worried for my brother; what damages he could do to others-or himself, if left unsupervised."

He paused for a moment, allowing her to process this.

" As you are also aware, and might I add, I'm getting rather tired of just how aware you are, I occupy a demanding position in the British government. I have no time to constantly survey my brother. That would be your job. Watch over him. Carefully. Make sure he doesn't do anything out of character-that is-stupid. Also ensure that he keeps himself alive. There have been weeks that he's survived on less than one meal's amount of food. He very rarely leaved the apartment, and only dresses on occasions that he does. What I'm offering is essentially the role of an over glorified babysitter. But seeing as how you have no other steady occupation, besides various freelance writing opportunities, I thought that my vastly generous salary would pique your interest. Of course, there are many other perks. Free housing, you would be staying in the same flat as my brother, and I will provide a monthly check for food and other necessities."

"And for how long would by supervision be necessary?"

"You may forfeit the contract after one year. The only other terms of removal would be if I were to terminate the contract myself."

"When would I begin?"

"You would be transported to my brother's home tonight."

"Is there anything else you would like to tell me before I make my decision?"

"Yes-Ms. Kenbridge, you are quite young, and my brother is currently very unstable. He may make you uncomfortable. His reason for choosing you, he said it was because of your books-that he found them incredibly "refreshing", but I can't help to wonder if it was your age, your innocence, and your," he studied her frame; slim, pale, tall, blonde, sweater half draping off of one shoulder-"appearance. I don't believe that you are easily manipulated, and my brother has shown next to no sexual interest in either gender, but in his current state-I may feel as though I am setting you up for imminent danger."

"Mr. Holmes, I don't know what more I could have done between our introduction and now to assure you that I am far more than what my appearance may warrant. I studied your brother's fake suicide, and his psychological profile to see if it was likely-that is to say, I know him far better than you think I do, and while I agree that volatile behavior is to be expected, I am also aware of how to defend against it. I can handle myself. If I wasn't confident in that fact then do you think I would have entered a very suspicious vehicle, and warehouse, with as little trepidation as I've had? Only an idiot would do that, and as I'm sure you are aware, if there is anything I am not, it is an idiot."

He nodded once and slid the Manila folder towards her.


	3. Chapter 3

"So you accept?"  
" I don't see how I could not. I do have one condition, however. I would like to utilize your brother for material to be published in my next novel. I would of course, change all compromising information, and you would have the final say before I sent it off to the publisher. Do you agree?"  
He nodded once.  
" I can add it to the contract. Unfortunately, I have some rather urgent business to attend to back in London, so I will meet you back at my brother's apartment. One of my best security officers will be escorting you on the ride to the airport; and coming with you on the plane. I've given him strict orders not to speak to you, so please do not antagonize him. You will have time to look over the contract, and all other information you may need, which is in that folder, on the plane ride. I believe Josef is here now. Come with me." He stood up and crossed the room over to the door which they had come through. She followed closely behind him, waiting until he passed through the doorway to move forward. She found herself pinned between the brick wall of the alleyway and the car which had brought her there.  
Mycroft stepped in front of her and held open the door to the backseat. Without a word, she slipped inside, holding the folder in her lap. He closed the door and stepped around into the street, where she saw an identical car come up to the curb in the rear view mirror. She looked up at the man in the driver's seat, who she estimated to be 250 pounds, 6 foot 2. His head was shaved, and his beefy hands were laced with tattoos that reached all the way up to his bare forearms. When she caught him glancing at her in the backseat mirror, she nodded her head once in acknowledgement, and he nodded back.  
The plane ride was rather pleasant, and the workers at the security checkout allowed them to pass through with no hesitance or intrusion. For most of the ride, Robin read through the file of Viktor Larsson, an unemployed Swedish citizen with a pale, gaunt complexion, tendrils of thick curly dark hair and somber sea-green eyes. Not once in the file was his name stated as Sherlock, but the fuzzy head on driver's license photo looked similar enough to the owner of the cracked and bloody skull on the cover of every tabloid last year that the points were not difficult to connect.  
Viktor had quite the history for violence. Three assaulted psychiatrists plus three hefty playoffs, equaled no court time for Viktor. Viktor's psychiatric diagnoses indicated cynicism and complete lack of trust in all human beings, as well as violent outbursts and severe sociopathic tendencies. No mentions of depression, although self-induced pain and suffering was one of the most clear symptoms. One psychiatrist noted that he showed considerable self-control, and only reacted violently when certain triggers were induced. The most helpful information in the whole file was the list of triggers, including; children's story books and TV shows, mention of the names "Richard", "Jim", "James" or "John", references to the military, and suggestions that his "fall" was intentional. He had been prescribed various medications by each doctor, but never fulfilled them, and lashed out when it was insisted upon. Some of this information Robin was already aware of, but it seemed that his pre-fall psychological issues had worsened dramatically. She had previously identified him as a very high functioning sociopath, but now he openly displayed all characteristics of sociopathy with the exception of increased promiscuity.  
This was going to be a challenge.  
Just the challenge she had signed up for.

**Hope you've all enjoyed reading. It might be a while before the next update, but there will definitely be a next update, so keep checking back! **


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